DWI, Dialing While Intoxicated
by JavaMom1691
Summary: Rachel drunk dials Mike to report on her first date with a dating service candidate. Rated M for future chapters and if you don't like het, you might not want to get involved.
1. Chapter 1

**As wonderful and creative as many the "Marvey" Suits fics are...**

**I like Mike w/Rachel and Harvey with, well, anything in a skirt (except Rachel, that is.)**

**Set somewhere between EP202/The Choice and EP205/Break Point.**

**I do not own Suits, nor Simply Irresistible. Also, this is my first fan fic so - be gentle.**

Mike never seemed to get out of Pearson Hardman before ten o'clock at night. Tonight, even after double-checking to see if either Harvey or Louis had left anything for him, he had been able to walk out the door at 9:00. It had been strange because the powers-that-be always seemed to load the associates with work on Thursday knowing that their output was likely to fade on Friday.

After the bike ride home he'd settled on the couch with a beer, some left-over Chinese food of indeterminate age and the television to keep him company. He soon realized that there wasn't much of anything on TV Thursday nights if your budgetary choices didn't allow you to have cable and finally came to the extraordinary decision to go to bed. At 11:30. On a week night.

He was worried that he might not be able to fall asleep. Sometimes if he wasn't exhausted (or high) he couldn't turn his brain off and had trouble falling asleep, but tonight wasn't going to be one of those nights. He shut his eyes and was quickly resting in the arms of Morpheus. The bottle of Ambien would stay in the nightstand drawer tonight.

Mike was drifting in the ether. It felt wonderful - a near blissful sense a contentment enveloped him. Harvey faded away. Louis dissolved into nothingness. Time had no relevance. His only awareness was of restful calm. Yet somewhere - over near the edges of infinity - a shift was occurring. Music drifted in, breaching the pleasant, utter stillness. The subtle hum transformed into a driving beat as it came nearer and overtook his awareness, and then Mike was onstage, replacing Robert Palmer, in front of a bevy of beautiful women in their tri-color, barely-there mini-dresses...

_"How can it be permissible? She'd compromise my principles." _He clutched the microphone then leaned forward and fist-pumped to emphasize,_ "Yeah, yeah."_

_"That kind of love is mythical. She's anything but typical." _He looked down at himself from above and realized he should thank Harvey for making him upgrade his suits. Man, he looked awesome. Not as good as Harvey, but definitely better than Mr. Palmer. (Well, Bob was dead after all.)

_"She's a craze you'd endorse, she's a powerful force. You're obliged to conform when there's no other course. She used to look good to me, but now I find her..."_ Mike glanced back at the chorus line and finally noticed - all of the women in those skin-tight nylon dresses looked like Her. Like...

_"Simply irresistible..."_

_..._Rachel.

Mike came awake with a jerk. His phone was somewhere close blaring the digital sample he'd attached to her phone number.

_"...Simply irresistible."_

_Find it!_ God, had he overslept again? Harvey was going to kill him! What the hell time was it? Mike rifled through the sheets and ran his hand under the pillows with an urgency that was at odds with his not-quite-awake state of mind.

_Find it!_ He sat straight up and ran a hand through his hair while looking around the bedroom in frustration.

_There!_ On the floor to his right he noticed a glow. He threw his torso over the edge of the bed with enough force that he slid completely off, managing to smack his knee on the nightstand on the way down.

_Answer it!_ _Catch it before it goes to voice mail!_

Mike sat up with his back against the side of the bed and looked at the phone. (_2:56am! What the hell?_) He pressed the button to accept the call. Raising the phone to his ear with one hand while rubbing his throbbing knee with the other he answered, "Hello!" with more force than was warranted. "Rachel?" he questioned a little less forcefully.

"Of course it's Rachel, silly. You awake, Mike?" It took just those few words to know that she was drunk. She was closer to tipsy than smashed, but she was drunk nonetheless.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. What's up?" Mike leaned his head back until it touched the top of the mattress and willed himself to calm down.

"I thought I should call you and give you an update on how well your sales pitch worked," Rachel said in an upbeat tone, but, simmering just below the happy surface he could detect an edge that gave him a distinct sense of unease.

"Well, I finally got the nerve to post it last Saturday night. That was kind of pathetic, huh? Posting your profile to a dating website on Saturday night? How obvious!" Rachel paused, "Well, either the blurb you wrote was good or maybe it was the picture Donna picked..."

Oh God, she was punishing him for breaking off with her.

There had been a few stolen kisses at work before he finally worked the courage up to ask her out a couple of weeks ago. The date had been fantastic, everything he had dreamed of since Rachel had given him his orientation on his first day at the firm. Well, maybe not _everything_. He had been a perfect gentleman and she was home (alone) by 10pm. But it had all come to nothing when Harvey had told Mike he would have to choose between working at Pearson Hardman and being honest with Rachel. Mike had chosen Pearson Hardman and he had shut Rachel down hard with a "relationships at work don't work" line which she hadn't even pretended to believe. Probably because he hadn't believed it either.

"Your picture was gorgeous." It slipped out before he could stop it. He rolled his eyes and let his head fall back again before raising his free hand to rub his eyes.

"Huh? How do you know..."

"Come on Rachel, have you ever taken a bad picture?" he covered, "You friended me on Facebook, remember?" She didn't need to know that he had also signed up at the match-making website just to see if she would post her profile. It had come as a blow last Sunday afternoon when his very carefully crafted list of interests and "likes" had brought up Rachel's smiling face and profile as a possible match.

"Well, I never posted my middle school class pictures. Braces AND glasses in sixth grade."

"I'm sure you totally rocked it." Oh man, too much. Way too much.

She paused again, "Yeah, whatever." The edge was back, "Good news, though, I had 50 guys 'interested' by Tuesday night. I didn't think that was too bad, huh?"

It wasn't "too bad," it was horrible, but when she paused this time he had the restraint to say nothing. He realized he was just supposed to shut up and take it.

"My only problem was I just didn't know how to choose from so many paragons of manly perfection," she ended with a brittle laugh.

Yep, just shut up and take it. She deserved at least that much from him.

"See, I didn't know what I wanted so I decided to just cut out what I didn't want! Get it? So I blocked ALL the blonds. And the skinny guys? Outta' here! Blue eyes need not apply. And after that, I only had seven to choose from and I narrowed it down to either Steve Benson, an 'entrepreneur' or Jim Drugan, an investment banker over at Goldman Sachs. So I said to myself, 'An entrepreneur? Doesn't that just mean he doesn't have a steady job?' and I decided on Jim. Oh, I mean, James Allan 'You-can-call-me-Jim' Drugan. He's a Yalie, because I'm _so_ sick of Harvard Men, ya' know? Did I mention, Jim was an All-Ivy-League offensive lineman?" She drew a long breath, "Yeah I picked a football player. A stupid football player who's idea of a good time was taking me to a lousy restaurant and then trying to see how much alcohol he could pore down my throat. Dumb jock. Idiot." She paused, "Did you ever play football, Mike? Are you a dumb jock, too?"

"Well, no. I never played foo..."

She cut him off, "Yeah, I didn't really think so. You've probably never been dumb, either, huh?"

Truth be told, he was feeling pretty damn clueless at the this very moment.

"I was Captain of the Chess Team and a Mathlete," he offered. When she didn't respond he continued, "I mean, I didn't play - but I _know _football. That's how I got Tom Keller to sign with the firm. I was the fifth best Fantasy Football team owner in the nation last year."

"Fantasy football? Fantasy. Football. Do you fantasize about football, Mike? I mean, really, let's think this over: After the scintillating 3 1/2 hours I've just spent in the company of," she dropped her voice to mock her recent escort's baritone, "'James Drugan former Yale University offensive lineman,'" before continuing, "I should be the one fantasizing, shouldn't I?"

Rachel sighed. "I should be, but I'm not. I came home, got undressed, took a shower and in all that time Jim Drugan didn't cross my mind once. Do you know what I've spent the last 45 minutes thinking about - one might even say, 'fantasizing,' about?" Her voice had been dropping in volume and had assumed the most erotic, breathy quality. Mike was mesmerized when she finally whispered, "Can you guess, Mike?"

"Uh-h-h, Rachel, I..."

She had paused, but she wasn't really listening, she verbally charged forward and cut him off again, "I've been, _fantasizing_..." (there was an unbelievably sexy rush of breath that wrapped around the word and filled it with desire) "...about a long, lean, blue-eyed... mathlete. I was thinking about how, when I kissed him once, his mouth had just the tiniest hint of the taste of Red Bull, but, I had to run my tongue all the way around his lips to actually recognize it." She paused again. There was a tiny catch, in her voice when she continued, "Do you think he thinks about me, Mike? My mathlete? Does he ever think about me?"

"Rachel, he doesn't think of anything else."

**Much thanks to my beta, God of Laundry Baskets, for her suggetions and guidance.**

**Also thanks to my muse PhoenixDivine for turning me on to fan fiction and giving me lots of encouragement.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I still I do not own Suits.**

"What are you wearing?" Any trace of desire had evaporated and she was back to upbeat with an edge. It was like she had flipped a switch. How did she do that?

"Wh-what am I wearing?" Mike stuttered trying to re-group.

"You know what I wish you were wearing? The navy blue suit and tie you had on at work today. I love you in that suit, and I _really_ love that skinny navy and burgundy tie."

Harvey could tease him all he wanted about not wearing "grown-up ties," but in that moment Mike decided he just might wear skinny ties for the rest of his life.

"Uh-h, actually, I fell asleep on the couch looking over some files. I still have the shirt and tie on. I loosened the tie, though. The jacket's hanging on a kitchen chair." he lied. Actually he had gone to bed in a wife-beater and boxers like he did every night, but if she wanted him in that suit, he'd play along.

"Uh-huh." She sounded skeptical, like she might even know he was lying, but obviously she didn't care and she continued, "Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you... what?"

"What _I'm_ wearing."

It was the point of no return. He could either ask the question or end the call. If he asked her what she was wearing this was probably going to go somewhere that would make working together awkward. It might be a good awkward but it might be a very bad awkward just as easily. He weighed his options in a split-second and responded as she had wanted, "So, you know what I'm wearing, Rachel. What are _you_ wearing?"

"Honestly, practically nothing." she giggled a little nervously. "It's a little outfit I picked up a couple of weeks ago when I thought I might need it. But then... I didn't. Need it, that is." She stopped and a little sigh escaped. He hoped she was imagining why she bought it and not why she hadn't needed it. "I thought I'd try it on tonight after my shower, because after I had lotioned up, well, all over, I didn't want to put on anything that would stick to the lotion, you know?"

He closed his eyes and bit his lip to keep from groaning. He couldn't stop thinking of her slathering lotion all over that unbelievably perfect body. She wanted him to think of it, right? or she wouldn't have said it quite that way, right?

"So I thought of this outfit and then I thought, if my evening with Jim Drugan was any indication, I probably wasn't going to _need_ it anytime soon. I thought I'd try it on, just for me. Do you know what I mean, Mike?" and she was back - all sultry and sexy. How _did _she do that?

He swallowed and tried to get his voice under control before he answered, "I think I might." He thought, _I hope I do_, but continued into the phone, "Do you, maybe, want to tell me what it looks like?" He tried to keep the need out of his voice, because, God help him, he really wanted to know what the lingerie she had bought with him in mind looked like.

"I'd _love_ to tell you Michael," she began. "Well, first there's this sheer black chiffon shortie robe. It's got lace inserts at the shoulders and these gorgeous full sleeves that tie with a black ribbon right under my elbows. They were showing it with a little baby doll gown with a matching black lace bodice, but I didn't buy that because it was satin and not chiffon so it wasn't sheer and, well, I wanted it to be sheer - not transparent - but the other word that's like that," she paused trying to think of the word.

"Translucent?" he offered.

"Yeah, 'trans-LU-scent.' How did I know you'd know what I meant? Oh, that's right, you read the dictionary once didn't you, so you know _all _the words, don't you?"

He decided that was another question it might be better to let pass.

"Anyway back to what I'm wearing," she continued. "So instead of the baby doll I just bought these little black lace boy shorts. They're the size I usually buy, but I think they must run small because they kind of ride up in the back, a lot, and, well - pardon my French - my ass is kind of hanging out." She laughed in an almost conspiratorial way, it might have been a giggle at any other time, but it was way too sexy to be called anything as girlish as a giggle right now. "I know because I looked in the mirror and my ass is definitely hanging out. I pulled 'em back down, but when I walked across the room they just rode right back up again. That's kind of funny, huh? They feel wonderful, though. The lace is _so_ soft and stretchy, and laying here, I can feel how soft the chenille of my couch is right on my... uh... well, right through the robe. Do you know what it feels like?"

She wasn't even waiting for a response, this was a monologue being performed with him in mind and he was sitting back and just appreciating the hell out of it. While he was listening he pushed himself up from the floor and onto his bed. He laid there looking at the ceiling envisioning her. "It feels, well, deliciously naughty." She paused, "no 'naughty's' not quite the right word. Wanton. It feels wanton. Is that the right word?"

"Well, it certainly could work in situation you've described."

"Good, that's what I was hoping. Thank you, Mr. Merriam-Webster. Did I mention that the robe had a little ribbon tie that went right under my, uh... Well, it tied right under my, um-m-m... right _there_, but, I cut the ribbons off, because I didn't want it tied shut in the front. I wanted it open, almost 'inviting,' you might say."

Mike's closed his eyes. His mind reeled as he thought of the invitation being issued and imagined his hands accepting it, sliding underneath the thin veil of black chiffon to fondle Rachel's breasts, stroking her nipples until they became hard under his touch. He opened his eyes with a jerk as her voice called him back to the conversation...

"The only thing left was a pair of shoes so I went to the shoe department at Bloomies and walked right up the most attractive salesman there and told him I needed a pair of FM shoes. You know what FM shoes are don't you, Mike? Can you guess what color I got them in?" Rachel asked.

He paused before he answered, "Yes, I know what FM shoes are and I'm guessing you got black shoes because everything else was black." He was a little pissed off that she felt compelled to buy them from the best looking guy at Bloomingdales.

"No, not black. They're red! Evan, they guy that sold them to me, told me I needed a pop of color with all the black. Yeah, blood red with long black marabou feathers that bounce in the most fascinating way when I walk across the room."

He imagined that was not all that bounced in a the most fascinating way when she walked across the room in that outfit.

"Evan was gay - I knew he would be," she giggled, "I mean a gorgeous guy like that selling Louboutin's at Bloomie's for a living? He _had_ to be! Anyway, these shoes are so damn hot that they almost straightened him out when I walked across the shoe department!"

He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding and decided he could stop worrying about Evan, the oh-so-attractive gay shoe salesman at Bloomingdales, and turned his attention back to imagining what those shoes did to her ass when she walked across the shoe department floor.

She continued, "I probably should have dried my hair before I called you, I don't want to fall asleep on wet hair, but, I guess I was just a little too tired. It was either dry my hair or call you," her voice kind of faded away.

He had been aroused since she had whispered her, "Can you guess?" question ten minutes ago. By now he was so hard that he was beginning to worry about blue balls. If he didn't get some kind of relief soon it was a distinct possibility.

Almost as if she was reading his mind, she questioned in a dulcet murmur, "Michael, are you hard for me?"

"God, yes. Rachel, I'm not sure I can take much more. Rachel..."

"Do you know what I'd do to you if I were there with you, right now?"

"Tell me."

"I'd grab you by that gorgeous skinny tie and drag you into the bedroom.'

His only response was a groan.

"I'd pull that skinny tie right up to my neck and check to see if you'd had any Red Bull recently. I'd check very carefully - as thoroughly as necessary to make absolutely sure - and then I'd push you back onto the bed. Do you have your belt on?"

"My... belt? I... uh, I took it off... when I got home," he stuttered. The last word was drawn out into deep-throated moan as he closed his eyes tightly, and imagined her actions.

"Good, because then I'd push you back onto the bed so I could straddle you and I wouldn't want to get my lacey little boy shorts caught when I started to grind. What would you do, Mike?"

Mike's eyes snapped open. He got a turn? "Uh, I think I'd... grab you where that black ribbon isn't anymore and... um... roll you over. I'd end up with my hips next to yours so I could get those god-damn black lace panties off of you then I'd start taking my pants off and, if you had any mercy, you'd help me do it."

She gasped out her desire, "Tell me, Mike. I want to hear it."

"I'd kiss you so hard that your knees would go weak tomorrow when you thought back on it. With one hand I'd explore every part of your perfect body and with the other I'd only touch one spot so you'd be ready, because I've been holding it for so long that when I come into you I'm gonna' come fast and hard and you're gonna' moan because you want it as much as I do."

"Cum for me Mike, I want to hear what it sounds like. I want to remember it."

"Only... if you... cum with me."

"I will," she gasped.

He grabbed his dick and started pumping like a 12-year old with his first copy of Playboy. He had a vision of Rachel stretched out on her couch in that unbelievably sexy little black outfit. He imagined she brought one hand up to move a strand of hair that had fallen into her face and ran her fingers through her gloriously sexy, wet hair. When she lifted her arm, her beautiful breasts were completely exposed and she moved her hand down from her hair to fondle one of the perfect rose-tipped orbs. Her other hand slid into the black lace panties and began rubbing her clit in a way that only Rachel could know Rachel wanted.

He could hear her moaning and was vaguely aware he might be as well, but his every thought was filled with Rachel. Her moans transformed into panting. He pictured her arching her back as one foot slid to the floor. The other knee drew up along the back of the couch so she could get an even more intimate touch - and then she screamed with a pleasure that he wished he had given her.

He ran his thumb over the top of his shaft and felt the half-pain, half pleasure of his climax roar through his body with an intensity that he had never felt before. He yelled out her name and collapsed back onto the bed.

They lay in two different apartments across town from each other listening to each other breathe. They listened as their breathing slowly returned to normal. It may have been 30 seconds or 30 minutes until there was nothing but a contented silence. Mike was feeling drowsy, and wonderful.

Rachel broke the silence, "I miss you, Mike. I know that sounds funny - since we never even got together - but I miss what we might have been." There was that catch in her voice again, "I miss dreaming about it. Good night, Mike," and with what suspiciously sounded like a stifled sob there was a disconnect beep and she was gone.

_Oh God, was she crying?_ "Wait, Rachel! Wait!" he yelled. He realized he was speaking to a dead air. _That's not how it was supposed to end!_

He sat up in bed and looked down at his phone as if he couldn't believe the call had ended, then quickly went to his contacts list, pulled up her number and dialed it. He had to make this right.

The call went straight to her voice mail. She had turned off her phone.


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own Suits.**

Mike had finally fallen back to sleep after Rachel's phone call, but it hadn't been particularly restful. He had startled awake several times to the sound of his phone ringing, only to find it was actually the neighbor's alarm clock or a ConEd truck's back-up warning beeping in the alley. Each time he woke, Mike grabbed his phone to check for messages which he knew wouldn't be there. When they weren't there, he tried calling Rachel and always got the same response, "You have reached the voice mail of Rachel Zane. I am unable to answer my phone right now..."

After realizing that he wasn't going to be getting any more sleep Mike rolled out of bed to get ready for work at 5:25am, a good half hour before he would normally even think of crawling out from under the covers. He showered and dressed with extra care, choosing the dark grey 2-button with the medium blue tie which Donna had once mentioned matched his eyes. He used the "product" that his hair stylist had sold him the last time he'd gotten a haircut. (She could call it "texturizer" if she wanted, but Mike knew hair gel when he saw it.) Instead of just brushing his teeth, he took the time to rinse and floss as well. Finally, he grabbed a shoe brush and attempted to get rid of a few of the scuff marks on his shoes before throwing his messenger bag over his shoulder and walking out the door less than an hour later.

Mike decided to take a cab to work instead of riding his bike. He needed to think about what to do about Rachel and didn't want to worry about dodging delivery trucks, car doors or inattentive, half-asleep pedestrians. Cabs didn't come into his neighborhood, so he walked the few blocks over to First Avenue, caught one and headed downtown to Pearson Hardman.

At one point last night Mike had thought that the phone call was bound to lead to a new awkwardness between the two of them. Right up until Rachel had hung up he had believed it was going to be a good awkward - easily bridged - but the way that she had hung up guaranteed it was going to be a very bad awkward indeed. He didn't know if he should just get it over with and face up to her first thing or if he should wait and, maybe, ask her to lunch. Or dinner? He was nervous, but there was a hint of excited anticipation, too.

It was out of the way, but he was early and had time, so Mike walked past Rachel's office on his way to the associates' bull pen. The fact that she wasn't there didn't bother him. It wasn't even seven o'clock and she always walked in, like clockwork, five minutes before she was scheduled to start at 8am. He continued on to his workspace. Once there Mike took off his messenger bag and set it on the floor as he reached over and turned on his computer. He nodded to the other associates who began to filter in as seven o'clock approached and took their places around him.

At 7:05am Louis Litt came strolling down the center aisle of the associates' communal office with a mail clerk pushing a file cart in tow. Every morning Louis went through the ritual of assigning the associates' cases. He would snap and then point one, two or three fingers at a cubicle. Then the mail clerk would hand the corresponding number of files over the cubicle's divider to waiting first-year hands or run the files around to the back of the cubicles if, heaven-help-them, somebody wasn't sitting in their place waiting for their daily ration.

Making it his last stop, Louis reached Mike's cubicle, snapped and pointed three fingers. He leaned over the frosted privacy divider and smirked, "Nice to see you here so bright and early, Ross."

Mike responded in mock confusion, "I'm supposed to be here by seven..." as he reached up and took his files from the clerk.

"And yet so seldom are," came Louis' sarcastic reply. "Oh what the hell," he turned to the clerk and said, "give the rest to Ross and let's get out of here." Louis gave Mike a and-what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it sneer and sauntered back to his office.

The mail clerk picked up the last 4 files in the cart, handed them to Mike with a sympathetic murmur of, "Sorry, dude." and hurried after the junior partner.

Within the next half hour Mike cleared the first folder: proofing a will for a wealthy widow on the West Side who, apparently, loved the ASPCA more than her two stepsons. He leaned back in his chair and stretched as if he had stiffened from sitting. To no one in particular he said, "I need a coffee before I tackle this Pre-Nup." If anyone noticed, nobody mentioned that he was headed in the wrong direction, but if he had gone the _right_ direction he wouldn't have walked past Rachel's still empty office. After reaching the break room and filling his coffee cup he took up a position just outside the south door with clear view of the Pearson Hardman lobby and elevators and leaned against the wall. As nonchalantly as possible he sipped his coffee and waited. His nonchalance was wearing thin by 8:10 as the unease within him grew. He made one more run past Rachel's office and headed back to his cubicle thoroughly confused. Where was she?

A pop-up indicating the Personnel Department's daily email informing everyone who was out from work blinked its arrival in the corner of his computer monitor at 8:15am. Mike usually didn't even open it, but today he double-clicked. Lists of people he didn't really care about, either "Out/Sick" or on "Vacation" appeared. Then he noticed under "Personal," one "Rachel Zane/Paralegal Dept." According to the company personnel manual it took a least 3 days to get a Personal Day approved, which meant she had called him last night knowing that she wasn't coming in. The bridge to be built just got a little wider. Mike sighed and leaned back against his chair.

The good news was that Mike could stop worrying about the awkwardness of a face to face with Rachel for the rest of the work day. The bad news was, counting the weekend, it would be at least three days until he saw her. He needed to make some kind of contact before then but since she wasn't answering her phone he didn't have a lot of options. Text? Email? He finally decided the solution was probably going to be a step-by-step process and the second step was going to be sending flowers. All women liked flowers, right? Step One was finding her address.

Mike walked into the Personnel Office and up to the desk of Gladys Bittman, Personnel Administrator. "Uh, hi. I don't know if you remember me..." Mike began tentatively, "We met at my orientation?"

"Good morning, Mr. Ross." Gladys answered in an I-haven't-had-my-morning-coffee-yet kind of way.

Undaunted, Mike continued, "I was wondering If I could get Rachel Zane's home address. Her grandmother died and I'd like to send her some flowers."

"Mr. Ross," Ms. Bittman began, "Miss Zane did not take funeral leave and she knew she was going to need this day off 4 days ago when she asked for it. So the dead grandma story is unlikely. Also, she didn't take any additional time off next week making it _highly_ unlikely."

Standing there Mike realized the foolishness of his request, but decided to try to brazen it out. What did he have to lose? "I don't think it's a lot to ask when I'm just trying to comfort a grieving co-worker."

"Look, 'Mike,' is it? You seem like a nice, attractive, well-behaved young man, and I know you went to Harvard so you're probably very smart. But..." she brought up one of her hands and leaned her chin on it, "...and _this_ is the point of the rules... so was Ted Bundy."

"I just want to send her some flowers. Because. Her. Grandmother. Died."

"You're a lawyer. You _know_ this is not doable, but nice try Mr. Ross. Please move along before I have to report this request to my superior _and yours._"

"That won't be necessary, Gladys. Sorry to bother you. Thank you for you time." Mike responded as he backed away from the administrator's desk. Besides, he was pretty sure there was a much easier way to get the information he needed. He turned around and headed towards Harvey's office.

**- SUITS -**

Mike walked up to Donna's desk with more assurance than he felt. Donna didn't acknowledge him as her fingers flew over the keyboard while she looked at a legal draft laying to her right. He considered his options and decided the direct approach would be best.

Donna, do you have Rachel's address?" he ventured.

"Yes." the redhead responded without bothering to look up.

"Excellent," Mike replied expectantly.

Donna continued to type as if she had dismissed him from her mind.

"Um-m-m... Could I have it?" Mike pleaded, "I just want to send her some flowers."

Donna's fingers stopped abruptly. She slid the keyboard forward so she could cross her forearms on the desk and lifted her eyes and one perfectly shaped brow in a what-the-hell-is-going-on-here way.

"Really? Flowers?" Donna tipped her head and finally turned it so she was looking at him full on. "That is _so_ interesting. Especially when I _know_ what Rachel's plans for last night were." She paused. The look on Mike's face told her that he was completely aware of Rachel's date the previous night, too, and she continued, "You see, Mike, I was her wing man when she scouted Delancy's on Clancy's last night. Because if Mr. I-went-to-Yale-and-work-at-Goldman-Sachs turned out to be less then advertised she wanted to be able to get out of there with as little collateral damage as possible. But he was the epitome of truth-in-advertising and I left." The perceptive red head eyed him speculatively. "So that begs the question: What happened between then and now that makes _you_ suddenly feel the need to send her flowers?"

Mike realized his only option was (almost) total honesty. "Because she called me after the date. He'd filled her up with liquor and she was feeling kind of down." Mike paused to see if that would be enough.

"Oh, do _not _tell me she drunk dialed you on a crying jag?" Donna replied with not a little exasperation.

"No, she wasn't crying when she called," Mike looked down at his shoe and scuffed it on the carpet, "but..." his voice faded away.

"Michael Ross!" Donna's eyes flashed. "What did you say to her?"

He looked up and tried to infuse his voice with as much pity inducing desperation as he could muster, "Please, Donna. She felt bad when she called and I made her feel worse. I'd like to try to make her feel just a little bit better, if I can."

Donna picked up a pen and tapped it on her desk. "Mike, I'm gonna do this. But I'm putting you on notice," she reached over and clicked a screen on her computer, before grabbing a Post-it and writing a line on it, "something isn't quite adding up here. If you messed up, giving you this..." she pulled off the yellow square and handed it to him, "...better not make it worse."

Mike grabbed it and assured her, "It won't. I promise." Then with a "Thanks, Donna!" over his shoulder, he turned quickly and started to walk away. After a few steps he stopped as if he had just realized something and turned back to the all-knowing one.

He held up the slip of paper and asked, "You don't happen to know a florist somewhere near here do you, Donna? And do you have any idea what kind of flowers I should send? Do you think they'll get there today?"

"You are totally and completely helpless, aren't you?" Donna replied with something approaching - but not quite reaching - sympathy, "Do you want me to take care of this?"

"Could you?" Mike asked hopefully.

"I shouldn't, but if I leave it to you you'll probably send her a plant!" She held out her hand, "Pathetic."

He handed her the Post-it. Donna's eyebrows shot up in disbelief, "Really?" she questioned.

"Oh, sorry. Here's my debit card." Mike replied. He reached into his coat pocket and brought out his wallet. He pulled out a small piece of plastic and placed it in fingers of her outstretched hand. "Oh, and Donna, my rent's due next week. Could you make sure I can still pay it?" Mike paused as if he remembered something. He walked around the desk to stand next to the seated secretary. He grabbed Donna's pen to scribble a line on the slip of paper he had returned.

"And could you make sure the card says this. I gotta get back. Thanks!" He gave her a smile and quickly walked away. He'd been away too long. Hopefully, nobody (named Louis) had missed him.

Donna placed the debit card on her desk and picked up the note. Her head jerked up and just caught Mike ducking into the bullpen, "I think I have just been had." she said to the empty hallway. She stuck the Post-it with the note, **You didn't give me a chance to say I miss you too**, to the debit card and looked back down the hall.

Harvey was out of the office for the morning, closing a deal across town. She figured he'd get back just before lunch. She thought she had enough realwork to keep busy until just before that. A smile spread across her face as she thought to herself, "_Then_ I'll find a little time to get these ordered, Michael."

**- SUITS -**

Harvey arrived at Pearson Hardman around eleven o'clock after closing the Tenton/Ballweg merger in Jacob Ballweg's office across town. He was returning to his office after giving Jessica a quick update when Donna's phone conversation caught his attention as he rounded her desk.

"Red roses and white lilacs?" she said, "That'll be lovely."

Flowers? He didn't think he needed to send flowers to anyone and not roses and white lilacs for damn sure. He paused outside his office to continue listening. He turned and leaned negligently against the glass door instead of passing through it.

Donna continued as if she didn't realize she was being observed, (fat chance that,) "So can I just double-check that spelling? Only one 'A' in Rachel and Z-A-N-E, Zane, not A-I-N, okay? Good. And the message for the card? Yes, that's right. I know! Aw-w-w-w. No, no name. Any chance you have an approximate delivery time that I can pass along? Perfect. It's always _such_ a pleasure, Andre. Why thank you. You have a wonderful weekend, too!" She returned the phone to the receiver and picked up the Visa card that had been laying next to her keyboard. She stood and turned around to come face-to-face with her boss. She feigned surprise, but did not speak, she just tilted her head and dared him to say something.

"That's not my credit card that's sending flowers to Miss Z-A-N-E, is it?" Harvey asked.

"No, it's not. If it were your credit card I wouldn't have asked for the arrangement to 'elegant but understated.'"

He smirked, "You mean cheap?"

"No, I mean 'understated' Harvey. Nothing from Andre is 'cheap.'"

"Don't I know it."

"Actually, I'm not even sure it is a credit card. I'm pretty sure it's just a debit card. Now, your name might have come up in the conversation to ensure that the 'understated' roses and lilacs get delivered with a little more urgency than _this_ card could have ever generated, but no, it isn't your card, Harvey."

"Good." Harvey replied. He knew that, besides himself, there was only one other person at Pearson-Hardman for whom Donna might(and it was a _big_ might) be willing to place an order for flowers and the recipient of the flowers had certainly confirmed the sender's identity. He watched as Donna walked down the hall flipping the card back and forth in time with her steps before finally turning the corner and heading into the associate's bull pen.

Harvey had hoped that he had talked Mike off the Rachel Zane ledge because it was only a matter of time before the idiot jumped.

"Oh, shit." was all he said as he rolled his eyes and pushed open the door to his office.

**- SUITS -**

Every Friday afternoon around 3:00 Harvey called Mike into his office to review the past week and set preliminary strategies for the upcoming week. This freed up Harvey to leave whenever he wanted after the meeting. It was one of the perks of being a senior partner as opposed to a first-year associate. Mike still had at least another four, maybe five hours of work before he would be able to head out.

Harvey informed Mike that next week they were looking at three or four mergers, a possible take-over and a nasty divorce that was spilling over from Family Law since it might affect ownership of a one of the nation's largest pharmaceutical companies. Mike sat on the couch making lists of files to be retrieved and arguments to be researched for each upcoming case.

Harvey stood facing Mike leaning back against his desk. He was just winding up the bullet points of the upcoming Daumier/Jenkins merger when a telltale vibration from Mike's suit pocket signaled an incoming text. Harvey rolled his eyes and turned back to his desk to throw the file onto one pile and picked up the next case. When he had turned back to face Mike, Harvey was greeted with the sight of his associate staring at his phone with his mouth hanging open.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Harvey asked, making Mike jump. "What? Is someone sexting you?" he smirked.

Mike snapped his mouth shut and actually blushed. "No. Of course not." He quickly responded, too quickly. He went to slide the phone back into his pocket but missed and the phone slid down the inside of the jacket to hit the edge of the couch and come to rest next his foot. He shifted his position to reach down for the phone inadvertently kicking it and sending it skittering across the floor towards Harvey. It came to rest a few inches from his boss' foot who bent to pick it up. Harvey glanced at the screen as he stood up. His eyebrow shot up as he gave Mike a hard and distinctly unhappy look. All the screen said was...

**_3:27pm Text from Rachel Zane:_**

**_diVinyls, 1991 - 10pm_ **

Harvey said in a carefully neutral tone, "Rachel Zane. Hm-m-m, I would have never guessed her to be an aficionado of Australian pop music." He paused looking directly at his associate. "But then their one hit was pretty god-damn memorable, wasn't it?" With an enigmatic look he lightly tossed the phone back to Mike before walking around to sit down at his desk. He laid the folder he had been holding on the desk, flipped open his laptop and began typing.

After pocketing the phone - this time without incident - Mike stood and stepped towards Harvey's desk, "Don't say it, Harvey."

"You know what I'm thinking, Mike?" came the calm reply as hard brown eyes looked up to meet steely blue ones.

"Yes. I know. Don't say it." Mike replied. On the night he had told Harvey he wanted to be honest with Rachel, Harvey had asked him if he was willing to give up everything just to get laid. As of right now, maybe. Maybe he was. He started to walk out, but stopped with his hand on the door handle, realizing he was walking out of a work-related meeting he asked over his shoulder, "Are we done here?"

This time Harvey didn't look up, "I don't know, Mike. _Are_ we done here?"

Mike leaned his forehead against the door as if struggling through an inner debate. He brought his head up, but didn't turn to face his boss. "You should have a little more faith Harvey. _Maybe_ I'm just gonna' give her the Specter treatment - get what I want, send her some flowers, then move on and let her try to figure out what happened." With that he wrenched open the door and stalked out.

Harvey swiveled his chair away from the door, and leaned back to kick his feet up onto the ledge. Gazing at the Manhattan skyline he answered an empty room, "You have no idea what I'm thinking, kid." He looked over his shoulder through the wall of glass at the slim figure retreating down the hall. "Besides, you already sent her the god-damned flowers."

_**Thanks for reading and...**_

_**V**__**ery special thanks to my beta, God of Laundry Baskets for all her time and help.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Well, life sometimes intervenes... **_

**My very helpful beta from my first 3 chapters, **

**God of Laundry Baskets, become unavailable and **

**my back-up beta went back to university and likewise, couldn't help. **

**Enter my last minute, back-up back-up beta. **

**A _HUGE_ Thank You to PhoenixDivine for jumping in at the eleventh hour!**

**I do not own SUITS or the characters there of... **

**Chapter 4**

After receiving Rachel's text, Mike had more than a little trouble concentrating on the last three of Louis' folders waiting on his desk. By 6 o'clock he'd cleared two more. Only one left, but he still had files to pull for Harvey's upcoming cases.

Intellectually, Mike knew that he should be more concerned with the conversation he and Harvey had following Rachel's text, but in reality he had trouble thinking about anything except: **1991, DiVinyls, 10pm**. It could only refer to the pop duo's infamous 1991 hit _I Touch Myself,_ and after their phone call the previous night, the title took on a special meaning. Apparently Rachel was willing to repeat it (or some variation thereof) tonight at ten. But was he?

At 6 o'clock Mike decided he'd head to the file room and take care of Harvey's files. If he couldn't bear working any longer after that (when he had so much to get done before ten o'clock,) he'd take the last of Louis' folders - a business lease that needed proofing - home and get to it sometime over the weekend when he could think straight.

Mike wandered through the file room pulling files as he went. If last night's phone call was any indication Rachel still wanted him. But he knew all along that was never really in question. The question was whether he could be with her and not tell her "the truth." By the time he'd gathered all of the files he was looking for it was 6:45. He grabbed the sizable stack and headed for his cubicle. Once there he sorted the files, filled out his online billables and submitted it to accounting. It was now a few minutes after seven. He threw the business lease in his bag and headed for the elevators.

Mike walked towards the elevators looking through the glass of the empty offices as he passed them. Why did he feel guilty about leaving "early?" Niggling somewhere at the back of his mind was Harvey's question: "_Are_ we done here?" But he didn't want to think about the possible consequences he might have to accept after tonight and he pushed Harvey out of his consciousness. He only wanted to think about this evening. And Rachel.

Mike stopped at the ATM in the building's main lobby, withdrew some cash, then walked out of the building to catch a cab. As he entered the cab he looked up at the towering building. "I'll see you Monday," he said. _I hope_, he continued in his head.

**- SUITS -**

Mike was ready at 10:01 when Rachel's name popped up on his phone's screen, and although he let Robert Palmer sing a few lines, it was only because he didn't want to seem _too_ eager. He answered it, working hard to contain his excitement and sound convincingly neutral, "Hello?"

"Hello, Mike." Rachel paused, "I got the flowers. They're beautiful. I got the note, too."

"Yeah, well, I got your text."

"Good. I'm assuming you understood it. So, do you want to talk about it, or..."

He heard the sound of knocking on a door through the phone and a sudden fear began to rise within him. "Uh-h-h, Rachel? Where are you?"

"Answer your door and find out, Mike."

"Well, it's hard to answer my door when I'm in cab headed over to your apartment!"

"Oh, no! Really?" Rachel glanced up and down the hall nervously, "Where are you now?"

"About 10 minutes away." Mike slid forward on the seat to address the driver, "I need you to turn around and get me to back to 758 Avenue D, as fast as you can, okay?"

Rachel called him back to the phone, "I don't suppose you have a spare key hidden somewhere so I can get out of this hall?"

Mike squeezed his eyes shut and with his free hand reached up to rub his temple in frustration. He didn't exactly live in the kind of building where people left an extra key under a mat in the hall, or didn't she notice?

"Rachel, I need you to go to Mrs. Ivanovich's apartment, 2F, and ask her to give you my spare key." _If she answers her door,_ he thought to himself, but decided against sharing that possibility.

"Okay, Mike. Wait, I see a stairwell at the end of the hall. Can't I just wait in there 'til you get here?"

"No, Rachel. It's 10:30 on a Friday night! Do _not_ go into the back stairwell. Don't go anywhere near it!" There were any number of illegal business transactions that were probably being conducted in the stairwell as they were speaking.

"But Mike, I don't think your Mrs. Ivanovich will want to give me your key."

"What? Why wouldn't she..."

Rachel responded, "Um... because the outfit I had on last night, the one I bought a couple weeks ago? It wasn't the only outfit I bought. I'm wearing the other one and I look like a... well, I don't look like _myself_ right now," as she moved quickly down the hall. Mike could hear the click-clack of high heels on the terrazzo floor. When she found the door marked 2F, he heard her knock on it.

Out of the corner of her eye Rachel had noticed a large figure come out of the back stairwell and start to move down the hallway. As it passed behind her, it paused and she heard a deep voice say, "Yo' bitch, you is fine!" she held her breath and leaned closer into the door only exhaling as the figure moved on.

Rachel whispered into her phone, "Mike, please hurry!" and knocked on the door again, this time more forcefully.

Mike had heard the comment and muting his phone momentarily leaned forward towards the cabbie. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, took out one of the crisp, new fifty dollar bills that he'd picked up at the ATM and held it up for the driver to see. "This fifty is your tip if you can get me to Avenue D in five minutes. Fifty bucks _plus_ the fare." He was knocked back against the seat with the force of the car speeding forward.

Rachel finally heard a small voice on the other side of the door say, "Go away!" in a heavy accent.

Rachel knocked again, "Please, Mrs. Ivanovich!" Rachel begged. "Mike Ross sent me."

The door opened to the length of the security chain. "Misha?" Mrs. Ivanovich questioned, looking Rachel over from head to toe through the sliver of an opening. Rachel could see a frown appear on the elderly face.

Rachel's eyebrows had shot up at the old woman's question. "Misha?" she repeated into the phone.

Mike replied, "It's like 'Mikey' in Russian. Could you give her your phone so I can talk to her?"

Rachel pushed the speaker button on the phone and held the phone near the woman's face. "Mike, it's on speaker. Go ahead." Suddenly Rachel heard Mike speaking to his neighbor in... _Russian_? She had no idea what he was saying but there was definitely some pleading going on. When the Mrs. Ivanovich answered there was a note of rebuke in her voice. Back and forth they went, Rachel thought perhaps Mike had won the old woman over when suddenly the door shut.

"Oh no!" Rachel cried over the phone as she turned the speaker button off and brought the phone back up to her ear. "She shut the door!"

Mike answered, "I think she went to get the key." He was right. The door opened again and withered fingers pushed a key through the slim opening.

Rachel took the key. "Thank you, Mrs. Ivanovich. Thank you so much!" she said sincerely. As the red tipped fingers took the key from the older ones the only response was, "Hrumph!" disapproving in any language, and the door snapped shut again.

"I've got it Mike. I'm headed to your apartment now." Rachel said. "Mike? Were you speaking to her in Russian?"

He could hear her heels click-clacking once again as he answered, "Yeah, I had some time one weekend, so I went to the library and listened to some language program on CD's so I could talk to her." He heard the familiar squeak of his apartment door. "Are you in?"

"Yeah. You know that key sticks, right?" She answered relief flooding through her.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I gave that one to her, so I didn't have to deal with it every day. Sight tight. I'll be there in just a bit, okay?"

After the cab pulled up to the building a few minutes later Mike hopped out and, standing on the curb, spoke to the driver through the open window, "Listen Albert J. Dempsey of 7894 East Brown Avenue in Brooklyn; Class E Driver's License number D6789-57GH-63900-02 - yeah, I've got that all memorized - here's the fifty I promised. Now, I'm gonna run into this building to pick someone up. She's ready to go and it won't take more than 5 minutes, so leave the meter running. We'll be right back. I'm leaving my bag right there on the back seat. Wait here. If you're not here when I get back down," he followed the fifty with a business card that read **Pearson Hardman, Michael J. Ross, Attorney-at-Law**, "on Monday morning I'm gonna make it my business to see that you never drive a cab in this or any of the 5 boroughs ever again. Got it?" He dashed away from the car and after jerking open the front door, took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. He only slowed down to take the corner from the front stairwell to the hall of doors. Walking up to his own door, he knocked and yelled into it, "Rachel? Are you there?"

"Mike?" came back the questioning reply from the other side. He could hear the bolt sliding back. Then the door was open and Rachel was peeking around the edge.

Mike pushed into the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him. He grabbed Rachel and wrapped his arms around her and - as if unable to contain himself - kissed her deeply with an urgency born of the fear that had been building for the past 10 minutes. Reluctantly Mike released her and held her at arms length. "Don't ever do that to me again!" He pulled her against him once more, but this time with less force, more warmth. Mike leaned his cheek against the top of Rachel's head and said, "Let's go. My cab's waiting downstairs."

Rachel leaned back, reached up a hand and cupped Mike's chin. Looking into his eyes she replied, "Mike, we don't have to go anywhere. I came here to be with you." dropping her hand to his waist she leaned forward and kissed him, lightly at first, but soon leaning in closer to deepen it. Her hands slid up his sides to wrap around his shoulders and pull him down into her embrace while she rose up and molded herself against his body. Her mouth left his and trailed kisses across his cheek up to his ear. "I don't want to wait," she whispered and nipped his earlobe.

He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined holding her this closely, tumbling into bed. Then the state he had left his bedroom crept into his mind, clothes scattered everywhere, bed unmade. His head jerked up, eyes wide open and saw that this room wasn't much better. Looking into Rachels eyes he said, "No, not here. I want it to be special."

"Mike... it would be." Rachel whispered. She let go of him slowly and stepped back, tipped her head to one side giving him an intent look and said, "But I see this is an issue for you so, okay..." After walking over to a the dinette set she leaned over and grabbed her purse which had been slung over the back of a chair. Coming back to Mike she gave him a coy half-smile and said, "Let's go." She turned, flipped the hand bag over her shoulder and sashayed out the door, heading towards the front stairway.

He had taken his first real look at her as she had pulled away from him agreeing to leave. She didn't look like any Rachel he had ever seen before. Her hair was teased and full. It looked like she had spent a lot of time to make it look thrown together. Her eyes were huge and smoky and her lips were blood red. She may think that she looked like a hooker, but she didn't look like any hooker he'd every seen in _this_ neighborhood. Maybe uptown. Very uptown. As she walked away his eyes fell to the seams of the black stockings running from the top of her stiletto heeled shoes along the back of her legs and disappearing under the hem of the short (_Was that red pleather?_) jacket she was wearing. He followed her into the hall then locked the door behind him. She was already descending the stairs when he caught up with her.

"So-o-o, is that pleather you're wearing?" Mike asked. "That's a different look for you."

Rachel stopped on the landing turning towards Mike, who also stopped as she answered, "It's my diVinyl jacket, Mike, get it? How soon they forget! And it's not a different look for me..." she leaned into him and spoke against his lips, "...its a different look for _you_." finishing with a lingering kiss. She turned away and hurried down the final flight of stairs, "Come on, slow poke!" Rachel chided as she looked up to find Mike still standing on the landing with his mouth open.

Mike hastily followed, beating her to the door and holding it open. He was relieved to see that the cab was waiting and as she passed through the door he gestured towards it, "Your carriage awaits, m'lady." He followed and opened the door to the cab, as well. Rachel sat into the back seat and slid over, pushing the messenger bag Mike had left there to the far side and throwing her purse on top of it. Mike followed her into the cab. Turning to the cab driver he said, "We're back Al, and we're headed wherever this beautiful lady wants to go." He looked at Rachel, "Where to? The Ritz? The Wolcott? The Holiday Inn Express by LaGuardia? You pick."

Rachel slid forward to the edge of the seat to address the driver, "So where were you taking him the first time, Al?"

The cabbie responded, "The corner of McDougall and Bleeker in the Village. Didn't quite get there, though."

Sliding back against the back seat Rachel smiled at Mike, "That's a nice neighborhood. Let's get there this time." The cab pulled away from the curb.

Mike was abashed, "Rachel, I was just coming up to your apartment to pick you up and take you somewhere. I don't want you to think I was inviting myself to, uh, stay there."

Rachel laid her head on Mike's shoulder, "Well, I'm not gonna lie. I had every intention of being in your bedroom tomorrow morning. Tomorrow night, too, if everything went well." She kissed his neck and ran her hand down his navy blue lapel before letting it come to rest it on his thigh, "I do _love_ this suit." She sat back again. "Let's just go to my place for now. I don't want to check into a hotel looking like I don't plan on being there for more than an hour! If you really want, we can head out after I've toned down this make-up and hair and changed into something a little more, well, comfortable, okay?"

Mike asked, "Just exactly what are you hiding under there? Is it like a present that I only get to see after it's unwrapped?" He reached for the buttons of jacket, planning to open it and get a look at what Rachel has wearing but she grabbed his hands, swinging one over her head 'til it came to rest around her waist and entwining the other with her fingers in her lap.

"For your eyes only," Rachel whispered before glancing meaningfully at the front seat. Mike looked up at the rear view mirror and realized that, at some point, the driver had readjusted it's position. Now it seemed to be focused on the back seat instead of the rear window. He nodded to show he understood.

They talked their way across the city. They fell into the same easy banter that they had enjoyed on the night of their one and only date. He told her how hard he had to work to get her address. She laughed and told him how easy it had been for her to get his when she had needed it a few weeks back - she had a complete contact list for all the lawyers in the firm, home phones _**and**_addresses.

"Whoa, that ain't right!" he said wide-eyed.

"What? I have to call them and sometimes I have to deliver briefs or files." she responded. "Besides, I have a very honest face." she batted her eyelashes and grinned. "Hey, who is Mrs. Ivanovich and why did you learn Russian to speak to her?"

He explained that she had been a war bride who was a widow now. He'd seen her around the building, helped her carry things. He'd been toying with the idea of learning a language, he'd wondered if his memory only worked in English. Since he didn't know anyone else who spoke a foreign language and he wanted to actually use it once he'd learned it, he decided to try Russian. One thing led to another and he checked out the program from the library. Now Mrs. Ivanovich was helping him with his pronunciation.

"_So_, you didn't have anything to do one weekend so you decided to learn Russian. I'm supposed to believe that? Are you sure you're not some plant from a forgotten cold war plan to infiltrate my beloved country and at some time - when we least expect it - plan to bring it to it's knees? Mrs. Ivanovich isn't going to say some trigger phrase that sends you on a killing spree some day, is she?"

"That was Angelina Jolie and, no, I'm not Evelyn Salt."

"There were guys in that movie, too, ya' know. Liev Schreiber was in that movie." she continued. "Did I mention he was hot? Even trying to kill the president he was unbelievably hot." she teased with a wink. She paused and looked out the window. "Hey, we're here!" she said with an almost girlish excitement. "Right there," she said to the driver as she pointed at a black door between two shops. She handed Mike his messenger bag and hopped out of the cab. He followed her out and slung the messenger bag to it's familiar cross body position as he watched her walk towards the door fishing for something in her little purse as she went.

As Rachel pulled out a single key Mike turned back to the driver's open window, "Well Al, what are the final damages?" Despite his initial shock at the number given by the cabbie, a little quick math helped him decide it was probably a fair amount - considering it included almost 3 trips across the city and a ten minute wait in front of his apartment building. He'd never kept a New York City cab tied up for over an hour before. He paid the driver and turned to find Rachel waiting with the security door open. He walked over to the door, pushed it wide and said, "Lead on."

Rachel started up the stairs with Mike following. Glancing up he noticed... were those garters holding up those black stockings? He slowed down to let her move a little higher up the stairs. Oh, my God, they were! What else did she have under that jacket? He hurried to catch up as the anticipation started to build once again.

When they got to the third floor Rachel stepped off onto the landing saying, "Here we are." She stepped up to a front apartment and inserted her key, "Welcome, Mr. Ross." she said as she opened the door and stood back allowing him to walk past her.

_Holy shit!_ he thought to himself. He stepped down the few steps from the entry landing to the living area. Aloud he said, "So, when is the **Better Homes & Gardens** team gonna get here?"

"Excuse me?" Rachel asked as she followed him in and shut the apartment door, sliding the security chain into place.

"You know, for the _Living Well in Small Spaces_ article. I assumed you were going to be featured in the spread?" he said as he looked around. She just laughed in response. Actually he really hadn't expected any less from Rachel's apartment - oh, so feminine, but nothing cute or girly. It was small, (in keeping with her pay-my-own-way philosophy) but you could tell just by looking nothing was second hand or make-do and everything was _so_ clean. A place for everything and everything in its place. There was a faint scent of... roses? He turned back to the door.

There on table next to the entry was the bouquet that had been delivered earlier in the day. _That doesn't look like $125.00 worth of flowers!_ he thought, but she cupped one of the roses with her hand, and inhaled then smiled up at him saying softly, "They're beautiful. Thank you." Yeah, that smile made 'em worth every god-damned penny.

Rachel looped her purse over the post of the landing's railing then unbuckled her jacket's belt and began to unbutton the coat. He counted them as her hands worked their way slowly down... one, two, three, four, five. She moved towards him, opening the jacket and shrugging it off her shoulders. He unconsciously licked his lips as it revealed, what? What was that? He squinted in confusion. There wasn't enough there to actually be a dress but it certainly wasn't a corset or anything that could really be called lingerie. Two strategically placed black straps ran vertically from the hem to a black collar around her neck. Five or six additional horizontal strips encircled her perfect body. Garter straps hung down from the hem pulling the black stockings up. He knew her couch was behind him and facing the opposite direction so he staggered back until he came to rest against it. In the tiny part of his brain that could still think rationally, he realized the "dress" must he made of spandex because it hugged her body as she walked slowly towards him. He guessed the strips were each about 3 inches wide and that left a lot of exposed skin. His hand reached out towards her as he imagined sliding it between the strips to touch the bare flesh beneath. She stopped in front of him and dropped the coat behind her to the floor. His hand tingled as it slid under a strap to caress the silky smoothness of her skin. When she raised her arms, he closed his eyes thinking Rachel was going to wrap them around him. But she just lifted the messenger bag over his head and dropped in on the couch behind him. Rachel brushed her lips against his without kissing and then put her hands on his chest and pushed herself away. She wasn't out of reach but their bodies separated. She reached up and took hold of his tie just below the Windsor knot. Mike opened his eyes in confusion and looked down into her face. Lightly holding the fabric between her thumb and index finger she slid her hand down the tie.

"I love this tie, too." she whispered. When she ran out of tie, she trailed her index finger along the front seam of his shirt until she came to his pants where she rested her hand on his belt buckle. "Now you know why I didn't want to walk into the Holiday Inn dressed in this." She murmured. "I know you want to get going. So I'll just change into something a little more lobby-appropriate and we can head to the... Hyatt? That's just a few blocks away. We can walk." She turned away from him in a way calculated so that his hand slid out from under the strap and lost contact with her skin. With her back to him she stopped and lifted her hair, "Can you help with the hook and zipper?" she asked in deceptively neutral voice. "You wouldn't believe the trouble I had getting this thing on."

Yes, yes he could. He raised a shaking hand to the top of the zipper and she stood patiently as he struggled with the hook and eye. When he finally separated them he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. One hand continued to hold the top of the dress as the other slid the zipper all the way down the length of her body. When he reached the bottom the dress separated completely revealing her gloriously bare skin and the back of a black g-string.

"Thanks." she said over her shoulder. "I'll be quick." A statement at odds with the way she walked slowly across the apartment without making any attempt to hold the dress together or cover the exposed skin. As she passed the entry landing she reached out, grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. It hung down her back, the only thing marring it's unimpaired nakedness. When she reached her bedroom she poked her head back around the door and said casually, "I don't have many DVD's but if you want you can try to find something on Netflix." Then she ducked into the room without closing the door.

He stumbled around to sit down on the couch. _She was a tease. The world's biggest fuckin' tease and_ _God, he wanted her._ He saw the remote lying on the coffee table and vaguely thought that he wasn't even sure he could figure out how to turn the TV on, much less navigate finding a movie on Netflix. He fell back against the couch, bringing his hands up to scrub his face. He looked at the ceiling and willed himself to calm down and breathe slowly. That wasn't the only thing he needed to bring down. He was hard as a rock. She had to have seen that when her hand was on his buckle. _Jesus, who's stupid idea was it to go to a hotel? _It was going to be _at least_ another hour before...

He leaned forward to put his head between his knees. _Oh big mistake! _He threw himself back again and stretched his legs out in an attempt to find a little relief. He grabbed his forearms and brought them up to his forehead, pressing his head into the back of the couch and started to figure square roots in his head. It had always worked when he was in high school, but then he never had the smokin' hot girl of his dreams naked in the next room when he was in high school. He had just calculated 83.31 as the square root of 6942 (for some reason he could not get past the second decimal) when his phone vibrated with an incoming text.

_Oh, Jesus. Who could that be? Harvey? Oh, __**that**__ was all this needed to be just __**perfect!**_ Mike pulled the phone out to reveal the sender was...Rachel? He opened the text to read:

**Care to join me? I'm waiting. **

**P.S. Decided to stay here. No hotel, okay?**

Mike jumped up fast enough and bumped the coffee table hard enough that the remote went flying. He turned towards the bedroom but stopped. Turning back to the couch he dropped his phone next to the bag that had been sitting beside him, fished out a condom and slid it into his pants pocket - then grabbed another, for good measure, and slid that into the pocket, too.

He crossed the room and stepped from the brightness of the living room to a dim, though not dark, bedroom. If it had been dark he wouldn't have seen Rachel lying on the bed in the outfit she had described to him on the phone last night. His eyes drank her in and as he slid off his suit jacket he thought she looked even better than he had imagined the night before. He walked towards the bed and threw the jacket on a bench at the end. Pulling his tie apart he dropped it on the floor as he came around the bed. His hands moved to his sleeve cuffs as he stood next to the bed. Rachel came up on her knees in front of him, her eyes filled with desire. She grabbed his face, giving him a deep and drugging kiss. Mike was intoxicated with her nearness, her scent and the taste of welcome on her lips. Her hands moved down to his neck and started to work the buttons on the front of the shirt. When she reached the bottom of the exposed buttons, she ripped the tails of the shirt out of his waistband. Mike gasped from the friction of its removal. She finished with the buttons and brought her hands up to run her fingers over his smooth, lean chest. His lips returned to hers and as he kissed her he brought his hands up under her breasts and skimmed her nipples with his thumbs. She pulled her mouth from his and, closing her eyes, rolled her head back and sighed. Mike took advantage of the change in her of center of gravity and guided her down to the bed, replacing a thumb with his mouth after Rachel stretched out on the bed. She arched her back, consumed with sensation of his tongue slowly laving her nipple. Her whole being throbbed with each wet, languid caress. Reluctantly, Mike separated from her and sat up to take off his shoes and socks. Rachel's sighs changed to a gasp when she realized he had left her, but she was soon kneeling behind him pulling at his shirt. She tried to get it off but was unable to do so while his hands were busy.

"Hurry!" she whispered in his ear before nipping his ear lobe and dropping her mouth to his neck.

With his shoes off and hands free Mike brought them up to remove his shirt, but Rachel had been waiting and was there before him. She pulled it backwards and when it was free she threw it over her shoulder to land soundlessly on the other side of the bed. She came back to him and hugged him from behind. Mike savored the feel of her naked breasts pressed against his back as he opened his belt. He reached in his pocket and removed the condoms before lifting his hips and sliding both his pants and boxers to the floor. He threw one of the packets onto the nightstand. Holding the other, he fumbled trying to open it. Adrenaline rendered him unable to handle this basic action. Rachel's hand came around and took it from him pushing him back onto the bed. She took the rubber, placed it on his tip and rolled it into place. He pulled her on top of him and kissed her deeply. His hand slid from her waist down over her hip and, grabbing the black lace, pulled it down. He held her tightly and turned so that she was next to him on the bed and slid the panties completely off. Bracing himself on one arm, his mouth returned to her nipple and began sucking once again. His free hand roamed down to the triangle of dark curling hair. Mike slid his thigh between her legs opening her and allowing his hand to continue its descent. He began to slowly stroke her clit as he repositioned himself between her legs. Rachel's fingers tightened on his shoulders and her soft cries urged him on. She began to shiver and he knew her climax was near. Mike thrust slowly and deeply into her. When he slowly withdrew Rachel's finger nails raked his back as she cried out. Her back arched as myriad of sensations overwhelmed her, pushing Mike over the edge as well. Her feet slid up opening herself completely to him. Mike gasped and began to thrust uncontrollably. He cried out and went rigid over her.

Spent, he lowered himself to her side and pulled her close, allowing his breath to return to normal. Rachel's hand came up and caressed his cheek. She brought her lips to his and gave him a long and lingering kiss. Slowly, sleepily, she lowered her head back to the pillow and closed her eyes. Mike watched her as she slipped into slumber. _This might be the most perfect moment of my life,_ he thought and he wanted to commit every second to memory.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew there was a reckoning ahead, but he pushed the dread away and laying his head on the pillow next to Rachel's he encircled her with his arms drifted off to sleep.

**- SUITS -**

**This story was supposed to end with chapter 4, but it got so long I broke off ****Chapter 5 _and_ an epilogue. **

**They will follow soon.**

**I hope these few chapters help to make up in some small way ****for the horrifying mess on the show that is "Tess." (Yikes! What a ho!)**

**Rachel's outfit in this chapter is based on an actual outfit on the Frederick's website. If you are curious to see it, go to their site and search for _caged mesh chemise._**

**I had planned to change this story's avatar to a cropped picture of it but my beta talked me out of it. **

**(Probably a very good idea.)**

**Thanks again, PhoenixDivine.**


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